


One is Silver and the Other's Gold

by Arsenic



Series: Dickens-verse [45]
Category: DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Background Relationships, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Olympics, dickens-verse - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Clint's shooting in the summer Olympics.  Dick's the reigning male gymnastics champion.  They have some friends in common.  Aka, the Dickens-verse version of an Olympics rom-com.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Dick Grayson
Series: Dickens-verse [45]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/55588
Comments: 68
Kudos: 131





	One is Silver and the Other's Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to ihearttwojacks for cleaning this fic up for me.
> 
> Important things to note: I am not particularly familiar with any of these particular sports, nor really even the Olympics. Probably all kinds of shit wrong in here. I truly could not care less.
> 
> This is just a bit of fluff, really. Because *gestures at world*
> 
> Set well before the previous chapter because I refuse to acknowledge time as a concept in Dickens. So there.

"Fancy meeting you here," Art said as she took a seat at the bar next to Clint.

Clint flashed a smile. He'd been out walking the Olympic Village, but the heat had eventually driven him to duck into the Village's bar for a soda. Art was the lead contender on the American women's archery team, and they'd run into each other more than a few times over the years at Nationals and other major competitions. 

She gestured to the red head next to her. "Have you met my husband, Wally?"

Clint shook his head and reached a hand over to shake. "Clint Coulson, I shoot things."

"Wally West, I run." 

Clint made a snorting noise. West was the front-runner, no pun intended, for most of the sprinting events. West laughed good-naturedly.

Art asked Clint if he'd been down to the range. He told her, "I've looked, but I haven't had a practice spot yet. I just got here earlier today."

"Me too," said a voice from behind Clint.

Wally turned and said, "Hey there," reaching out to perform the handshake-hug combination of dude-bros everywhere.

Clint had to think for a moment to figure out where he'd seen the newcomer, and then it hit him. Dick Grayson, adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, Roma circus kid who'd transformed into the youngest all around gold-medalist in men's gymnastics in history, and was back for a second bite at the apple. His face was on half the Wheaties boxes in existence. Not to mention a number of other product placement gigs.

He was even better looking in person, which was just fighting dirty. Clint swallowed the rest of his soda in a hurry and said to Art, "I should really—"

But she was hugging Grayson now, too, saying, "Been too long. Have you met Clint?"

Grayson turned to Clint, hand out, all trillion watts of his smile going and said, "Hey, I'm Dick."

Clint said, "Clint Coulson, I, uh. I'm on Art's team."

"Yeah, you beat the pants off Roy at Nationals. He's been busy being pissed that you're too nice to Lian to hate ever since."

Clint frowned. "Harper was just having an off day. He's definitely gonna be one of three in the field I have to watch out for."

Dick smiled, wide, and for all Clint could tell, genuine, with not a trace of the conceit or snobbery Clint was used to in wealthy, successful Olympians. "I already told him my money is on you."

"You mention that to my niece?" Art asked. 

"I'm certain Roy has informed her that I am a traitor in the House of Harper, and all evidence of me must be burned."

Wally laughed. Art rolled her eyes. "These idiots went to prep school together, just in case you couldn't tell."

"Lian's your niece?" Clint asked, not sure how he had missed that.

Art's smile was a little smaller. "Long story."

Dick's hand was at her shoulder, then, squeezing. He looked over at Clint. "Have dinner plans for after Opening Ceremonies?"

Clint shrugged. "I was gonna meet up with my sister and dad and some other family."

Dick said, "Raincheck, then?"

Clint figured this was one of those things people like Dick Grayson said to be nice, not an actual invitation. Grayson was amongst the Olympian community's Golden Boys, and certainly had a million more important people to see and things to do than have a bite with Clint Coulson. So he smiled and said, "Yeah, sounds good," and didn't let himself worry about the way his insides flipped a little bit whenever Grayson's eyes crinkled up at the corners.

* * *

Clint woke up the next morning and went to practice. Ziva met him at the practicing grounds and allowed him precisely one hour of shooting before she made him stop. There was a fine line between keeping his muscles ready and overextending them. She accompanied him to the gym where they ran through a prescribed workout. By the time they finished, it was noon and she said, "Go to an event. Have fun, rest."

Qualification rounds started tomorrow. Now that he wasn't actively training, he could feel his nerves, buzzing like angry bees in his stomach. Finn wasn't racing until later in the week, and would probably be at the pool getting some practice in. Clint texted Nat, "where r u?" not really wanting to be alone.

She texted back, "gymnastics qualifiers."

It made sense, one of the girls Natasha used to dance with was competing for Bulgaria. Clint made his way to the correct arena and joined her, only to find she wasn't watching the women's qualifying round. She was watching the men's. She nodded toward one of the Ukrainian competitors, who was blond and chiseled, and said, "I might have given that one a little bit of special pre-competition cheer."

Clint grinned into her shoulder. "Jesus, Tash."

"Okay, but seriously, can you blame me? Look at him."

"You have excellent taste," he agreed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Dick was starting the parallel bars and Clint couldn't help but watch. Clint knew fuckall about the sport, but he knew that when someone could make something like Olympic-level gymnastics look easy, they were the person to beat. Dick was swinging through the round with something like pure-happiness on his face, as if he didn't even care about the score. His toes were pointed and his body impossibly long: it was like watching a song come to life.

Natasha said softly, "You're impressed with that one."

Clint shrugged. "He's impressive."

There was a second too long before she said, "He grew up in a circus, you know?"

"Yeah, I read the Sunday Times, too." Well, he read the stuff that interested him, which was mostly sports stories about non-mainstream sports. And food stuff. In any case, he'd read the in-depth interview featuring Dick Grayson being stupidly nice to the interviewer and taking annoyingly good pictures. "He actually _liked_ being in the circus."

Natasha nodded. "Sure, but how many people have ever lived in a circus, period? I bet most people don't understand where he's coming from, when he talks about things like the transiency of it. And I doubt there are many people who would entirely understand being adopted as an older kid."

He looked over at her. "I just like his gymnastics."

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Here's the deal. I'm going to let you act like an idiot about this because you're competing in the Olympics tomorrow, and that's probably making you even more of a mess than you usually are. But know this, Clint Coulson: I see through your bullshit. And I have never, _ever_ seen you look at someone the way you just watched him. Not even the first time you met Oliver Queen, and you had the biggest celebrity crush on him since the advent of celebrity crushes."

Clint was not apologetic. Roy's coach was a legend in archery circles and unfairly gorgeous. "You've seen him shoot."

"I'm not judging. I'm also not distracted. I'm gonna let you get through first round so you can maybe breathe a little. Then we're revisiting this."

Clint sighed. For the most part, Natasha left him alone about the fact that he didn't date. He'd always assumed she understood he was too broken to get romantically involved with another person. Clearly, he was wrong, and she'd just been biding her time.

"Sisters are the worst," he told her.

She laughed and turned her attention back to the proceedings.

* * *

Clint finished the qualifying rounds ranked second behind the guy from Denmark he'd beaten at Internationals. Harper came in barely behind him, but things were going to be tight. He was putting away his equipment, checking everything and listening to Ziva point out the areas he'd done well, when Lian made her way into the dressing rooms, shooting straight for Harper, with a familiar face lagging right behind, laughing and calling, "She would not be denied a moment longer."

Clint's attention to his equipment got even sharper, and Ziva, who never missed anything, asked, "Everything all right?"

Clint made himself meet her eyes, because anything less and she'd never accept his answer. "Fine, just adrenaline bleed-off, you know?"

She watched him for a moment and then said, "Peg's going to be here tonight. Dinner and we'll chat about what I see in the feeds, where things need to be tightened up."

Clint smiled. Peggy had wanted to come in for qualifiers but he had said, "Nope, then I'll just feel terrible if I don't make it." He'd made the rest of the family—barring Natasha and Phil, who were having None of That—and Bucky and Cougar agree to the same. He nodded and said honestly, "Looking forward to it. Go, I got this."

Ziva telegraphed her move, she always did, even after five years of coaching him, and messed with his hair. "You did good, Clint. Really good, okay?"

"Ken, ken," he said, using one of the few Hebrew words he knew. She laughed and headed off.

Clint almost had everything packed up and ready to go when Dick walked up and said, "Clint, hey, we met the other day. Dick." 

He held out his hand and Clint shook it. "Yeah, hi, nice to see you again."

"Roy, Lian, and I were going to go and grab some lunch, you wanna join?" Dick was smiling, his eyes almost too-bright. 

Clint did want to, wanted to sit and listen to Dick tell stories and fill spaces much bigger than him. Dick reminded him of a mixture of Tony and Trowa and Finn in all the best ways. Clint knew what playing with fire looked like, and he also knew that it only ever ended in him getting burnt. Still, it was with regret that he said, "I would like to, but my dad's waiting out there for me, and probably more of my extended family."

He'd told Tony, Pepper, Finn, Jo, Ronon, Kat, and Peeta they couldn't come to qualifiers, but he knew better than to believe they'd be kept away for any longer than was absolutely necessary. And he was fairly certain John and Nyota had made it into town today as well.

Dick shrugged. "Great, we'll go somewhere with a big table. I grew up in a circus, I like eating with a crowd."

Roy came around the corner of the lockers at that moment, Lian on his shoulders. He looked between Dick and Clint and said, "Oh, hey Coulson. You know Dick?"

"Art introduced us yesterday," Dick said. "We're going to dinner with his family."

Lian's eyes lit up. "Is Natasha coming?"

Clint couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, monkey, she's coming."

Lian kicked her heels into Roy's shoulder's and said, "Giddyap."

Roy put his hands over her legs to stop her, but said, "You heard the lady."

Clint shouldered his bag and followed the rest of them out of the changing rooms.

* * *

Natasha, because she was the meanest sister ever, maneuvered it so that despite there being roughly one million members of the family on site—Harvey and Mike had arrived and come to qualifiers without letting Clint know, along with all the others he'd already expected to see—Clint ended up sitting next to Dick. 

"You have a big family," Dick commented. 

Clint nodded. "This isn't even half of them. It's, uh, a long story, I guess."

Dick nodded. "My dad has a tendency to adopt a kid every couple of years or so, I hear you on the interesting-family-history front. I'd, uh. I'd like to hear the story, maybe, if you wanted to share it."

Clint wished he had Natasha's ability to read people. He could never tell when people were just being polite or if they really meant what they were saying. His instincts told him that Dick was being serious, but his view of the world made that hard to understand. Clint was just…Clint. There was no reason for this blazingly hot, sweet, funny guy, who was America's current sweetheart, to be interested in hearing Clint's stories. They didn't even know each other. Clint knew he had good qualities. He was loyal and kind and he worked hard. But those were the kind of things people learned about when they hung around. Clint wasn't the kind of guy who immediately interested flashy, popular people. 

Dick pulled back from the silence. "Or not, I wasn't trying to pry, honest."

Clint bit the inside of his cheek and considered that Natasha had done this, put them side by side. He knew she was watching, too, no matter how ensconced in a conversation with Lian and Finn she seemed to be. And whatever else, Clint knew damn well she'd never do anything to hurt him. He dug his fingers into his knees and said, "No, I—I mean. It's. I'm just—that is. I'd like that. And to hear yours."

Dick's smile was uncertain. "Yeah? Because my sisters tell me I can come on a little strong, and sometimes I should—"

"You—you aren't the problem here. Promise."

The smile widened into something more simply happy. "Well then I don't see a problem."

Clint smiled down at his lap. He looked up and said, "You've met Finn, right? You guys were both competing four years ago."

"Yeah, our paths have crossed," Dick agreed. "My dad and his dad are also oftentimes engaged in a galactic-wide technology-based pissing contest."

Clint laughed. "Yeah, so, you know Tony, too. That's a good place to start, I guess."

* * *

Peggy and Ziva showed up about an hour after most of the family had gone back into town to settle down for the night, Peggy’s flight having been delayed. Clint and Dick were sipping tea, sharing a plate of fruit, and discussing big cats. Their circus memories were drastically different, but they both agreed that all the animals had been the absolute best part.

Clint stood and got ready to introduce them, but Dick was asking, “Peggy?” heading toward her, his arms out for a hug. 

She said, “Christ, Grayson, I see Wayne managed to keep you alive.”

Dick laughed. “As if you don’t have files on every last one of us. How do you know Clint?”

“She was my first coach,” Clint interjected. “How do _you_ know her?”

Peggy came over and hugged him fiercely, then pushed him back to look him over. “Interpol stationed me in Gotham for a few years. His dad and I…enjoyed each other’s company.”

Clint flushed at the same time as he laughed a bit. Peggy had a notoriously interesting and varied love life. “Ah.”

The four of them sat around the table Dick and Clint had been keeping. Peggy asked, “How are the others?”

“They’re all here, we can plan a meetup, but they’re good. Jay’s in his sophomore year of college because the overachiever finished high school a year early through pure stubbornness. Tim’s helping dad run the company despite not yet having a high school degree, of course. Damian’s terrorizing the neighbors and still planning on being a vet. Steph’s about to start undergrad. Cass got her GED and spent a year doing volunteer disaster recovery wherever it was needed. Jay’s trying to convince her to think about social work. And you never met Duke, but he’s weirdly normal considering the rest of us, and plays varsity soccer even though he’s only a sophomore.”

“And Barbara?” Peggy raised an eyebrow.

Dick grinned. “You know we broke up years ago, right?”

“I’ll put money on her still being your best friend,” Peggy said wryly, taking a sip of Clint’s tea and leveling a highly judgmental look at him. He shrugged. It wasn’t like he was at home and could make his own.

“Always and forever,” Dick agreed. “The FBI poached her out of college, which she finished at nineteen, because she’s Barbara. She’s at the Gotham field office, basically running the world.”

“Sounds about right,” Peggy said. She turned to Clint. “Second place in qualifiers, huh?”

“Don’t worry,” Clint said, “Ziva’s gonna tell me what I did wrong.”

Ziva snickered. “He means other than being the most exasperating kid in existence.”

Peggy took one of his hands in both of hers. “Clint, most people who start shooting as soon as they can walk will never do what you did today. Be proud, darling. You’re enough. Just like this, right now. You’re enough. More than.”

“Wait.” Dick blinked. “When did you start training?”

“Late middle school. It, uh. Tasha and I weren’t really in the system at all until we were both a little past fifth grade.”

“Holy shit,” Dick said. “That’s. Wow.”

Clint looked to Ziva in a panic. “My stance was off, wasn’t it? I felt like—”

“Sheket,” she said. “You were just more tense than you normally are, that’s all. Which is to be expected, but hopefully will get easier in the next round. That said, bedtime for you. I want to see you at six tomorrow, bushy-eyed and bright-tailed.”

“Uh, it’s—” Dick started.

Clint shook his head, a miniscule gesture. Ziva sighed. “I got that one wrong, yeah?”

Clint said, “I like your versions.”

All three of them looked at him with variations on a particular expression he wasn’t quite certain how to parse. “I’m uh, gonna hit the sack.”

“See you tomorrow?” Dick asked.

Clint grinned, and then hurried away before he ruined it by saying something dumb.

* * *

After working with Ziva for most of the morning, Clint went to the aquatic center, since Finn had a couple of races in the afternoon. He took gold in the 100m butterfly, and his team took silver by roughly a nanosecond in the medley relay. Clint stayed for the medals ceremonies and then asked Jo and Ronon to give Finn a hug and a congratulations for him.

Ronon said, “I thought your event wasn’t until tomorrow?”

Clint nodded. “There’s, uh—”

“He’s accompanying me to see the son of an old friend compete in the men’s team competition for gymnastics,” Peggy said, before Clint could dig himself any kind of hole.

Stiles, who’d arrived with the Winner-Barton clan that morning, said, “This have anything to do with the guy who had dinner with the family last night?”

“Totally does,” Natasha said, because she hated him and wanted nothing but misery for him. “Go before he thinks he’s pining alone for you and has to resign himself to a life of unrequited love.”

Clint said, “One of these days,” and followed Peggy out of the aquatic center.

When they got to the gymnastics auditorium the competition had begun. Apparently, however, Dick was third on the American roster, so he hadn’t gone yet. According to the boards, he was competing in all seven of the disciplines. Clint didn’t know enough about gymnastics to be aware of whether that was unusual in the team competitions, it just seemed like a lot.

Peggy led him to the section for athletes and their families, and then made a beeline toward a guy Clint had seen on more than a few magazine covers in grocery stores, and a talk show here and there. Bruce Wayne’s smile was even more charming in person, which was annoying except for how he was focusing it on Peggy, who definitely deserved it. He opened his arms and said, “If it isn’t my favorite Brit.”

“Excepting Alfred?” Peggy asked, going slightly on her toes to embrace him and share a brief greeting kiss.

“Alfred understands,” he said, with a laugh.

“Indeed, I do, Ms. Carter,” a refined older British man said, holding a hand out to Peggy from behind Wayne. 

“Bruce, Alfred, meet one of my old students who later far surpassed what I could possibly teach him, Clint Coulson. Clint, this is Bruce and the man who keeps him alive, Alfred.”

Clint nodded and said, “Pleasure to meet you,” feeling awkward and small, the way he often still did in new social situations.

“Clint Coulson, the archer whom Master Richard seemed incapable of not talking about this morning?” Alfred asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh,” Clint said. “I know his friends. Harper and West.”

“Mm,” Bruce said. Then, “Stop staring, heathens.”

This last was clearly directed at the seven pairs of eyes that had become glued to Clint from the bleachers above and below where they were standing. It had the affect of distracting absolutely none of them. The red head who was seated a row down, in a contraption that allowed her to be at a level with the largely standing crowd, reached out a hand, “I’m Babs, eldest heathen, nice to meet you.”

Clint took the hand and she nodded toward the others in her row. “That’s Jay, tallest heathen, Cass, quietest heathen, Duke, most sensible heathen. Up there,” she pointed to the row above where Clint, Peg, Bruce, and Alfred were standing, “is Damen, smallest heathen, Steph, most fashionable heathen, and Tim, nosiest heathen.”

Clint had to admit, the superlatives were probably going to help later. He said, “I’m Clint, shootiest heathen.”

Steph snorted and said, “Yup, he can stay.”

* * *

The American team took the gold by mere tenths of a point, largely due to knockout performances by Dick on the rings and floor. It had been mesmerizing to watch. Clint kissed Peg on the cheek and adroitly skipped out before Dick’s family headed to go gather him up, figuring Dick would want some time with his family and his team.

He went to the hotel suite where Tony and Pepper were staying, since it was half the top floor of the Westin, and where all of the families were congregating when not competing in or watching the competition. To his surprise, Bucky and Cougar were there, sitting with Heero, Stiles, Neal, Eliot, Faith, Nyota, Jamie, and Joanna. Clint grinned and went to hug the two of them. “When did you get in?”

“Later than we were supposed to, clearly,” Bucky said. “I hope you got the messages about the flight delays.”

“Yeah, you haven’t really missed anything,” he told them.

“Except the part where our very own Clint Coulson kind of got picked up by an Olympic medalist and is acting like that wasn’t a thing,” Nyota said.

Clint narrowed his eyes at her. “How much has Nat told you?”

“Enough to know you shouldn’t be back from the gymnastic arena just yet.”

Stiles leaned forward. “Wait, wait—did you even tell him he did a good job?”

“He has family here, people he knows, and who are important,” Clint said.

“Madre de dio,” Cougar, who didn’t even know what the situation was, said. Jamie was rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Right, okay, well, clearly we have to fix this,” Neal said. _Neal,_ who couldn’t even fucking get it together to seal the deal with Ezra. And _everyone_ knew that was a thing. There were people in Albania who probably knew that was a thing.

Just when Clint was about to say something he definitely shouldn’t say aloud, he remembered that as bad as Neal was at, well, himself, he was fucking _amazing_ at everyone else. So, instead, he asked, “How much do you know about Dick Grayson?”

“Enough to know that bitch would be lucky to have you,” Neal said, standing. “Come on, cupcake, let’s go get you your man.”

“Not my man. And also, I—” Clint’s breath caught and he closed his eyes and rubbed his thumb over the calluses on his palm, reminding himself where he was.

“Clint,” Eliot said softly.

Clint took another breath and forced his eyes open. “El.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. And none of us are gonna make fun of you for whatever you decide. I will personally fucking make sure of it, kid.”

They were all adults, really, when you thought about it. They had families who loved them and each other and schooling or careers. Clint was competing in the fucking Olympics. And sometimes, in these moments, Eliot was still Kane, the kid who managed to escape, and Neal, standing next to him, was the kid who’d got caught and torn everything down to get Ezra and Vin and Eliot home. And he trusted them more than just about anyone in the universe.

“Yeah. I just. I want to kiss him. But I—but I want to run. And. Nothing feels safe.”

Jamie made a soft sound. “It can’t always.”

“Right,” Faith said. “Right, so, we’re all gonna go meet this guy and see if he deserves Clint, is what I’m hearing?”

“That’s…that’s probably not fair,” Clint said, still feeling a little short on breath, and wanting that more than he knew how to say.

“Eh,” Neal said. “It’s a little like hazing, right? If he makes it, he can probably handle us in general. And if he can’t, he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you.”

“Not even a little,” Bucky agreed. Nyota blinked and seemed to actually consider him.

“Right,” Clint mumbled. “Yeah, that, uh. Well. Right.”

Neal took Clint’s hand and pulled him toward the door a little. “C’mon hot stuff. Let’s go see this boy wonder of yours.”

* * *

Peggy had texted him, “get your insecure ass to the bar @ the intercontinental when you’ve gotten over yourself.”

“Intercontinental it is,” Eliot said, glancing over his shoulder. “Faith and I wanted to check out their appetizers anyway.”

Clint put himself in the middle of the group so he’d basically get dragged along and have very little chance to flee. Nobody said anything to him about it, rather, they just flanked him, talking easily amongst each other, doing their best to provide him with normalcy. Clint loved the others so much sometimes it was hard to breathe, like the amount of his love didn’t leave room for oxygen.

They had barely walked into the lobby when Dick spotted him—and look, Clint was an idiot, sure, but he knew that meant the guy had been watching the door and, at the very least, wasn’t _hiding_ from Clint, so, promising start—and called, “Clint! Get you and _your_ heathen posse over here!”

“Heathen posse?” Bucky asked.

“Babs, the one with the red hair in the black Olympics tee, started it,” Clint said.

“I like it,” Faith said. “We’re gonna get along.”

Clint flashed her a smile. She and Eliot had only been together for eight months, and Clint didn’t really know much about her, but when Eliot had introduced her to them, Tasha had said, “We’re not gonna hurt you unless you hurt him,” and Tasha almost never read other people’s fears wrong.

Dick was bounding over to them, so they’d barely even made it into the bar when he pulled up in front of Clint and said, “I’m a hugger but you don’t come off as a hugger.”

“Right, okay,” Stiles slid so that he was slightly between Clint and Dick, to give Clint some space if he needed it, which was a good tactic, because if Heero got involved it probably wasn’t going to be diplomatic. “You seem a little drunk, my good sir.”

Dick looked over his shoulder, and then back at Stiles, as if he was telling him a secret, “Bab bought me shots. Gummy bear shots. And then there was a toast, because—because we won!” Dick’s arms went up in a victory pose, as if he was just remembering the fact that he had yet another gold medal. He looked at Clint and said, very sincerely, “We _won_.”

Clint was not, as a general rule, charmed by drunkenness. If anything, it made him a little edgy. But there was something about Dick’s pleasure that was almost weirdly divorced from pride, about the fact that it looked very much as though his little brothers and sisters were keeping an eye on him from their table, that made his heart beat just a bit quicker. “I, uh. I saw. I was there.”

“I _know_.” Dick nodded. “It was very nerve-wracking. I didn’t want to fuck up in front of you.”

“Or the judges?” Stiles asked, clearly pretty amused by this.

“Your family?” Nyota chimed in.

“Pishtosh,” Dick said, pronouncing it extremely carefully. “They’ve seen me before. A bunch of times. And they’re not as—” He blinked. “Huh.” He wheeled around. “How many shots did you give me, Babs?”

“Matter of national security,” she called back. “Not telling.”

“Not as smoking hot?” Bucky asked.

Dick pointed at him. “You are very very right. Who are you?”

Bucky held out his right hand. “Bucky Barnes, friend of Clint’s.”

Dick shook the hand. “I’m Dick Grayson. Your friend is super hot.”

“I’m just gonna—” Clint started. 

“Grab a seat and see about everyone getting some apps and drinks,” Neal finished.

“I am extremely good at shooting things,” Clint reminded everyone, because it seemed pertinent, suddenly.

“You really are,” Dick agreed. “Also, you have arms. So much arms.”

“Oh, wow,” Jason, who had just strolled up, said. 

Clint rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s drunk.”

“You don’t say?” Jason laughed. “C’mon, Golden Child, why don’t you come sit down and Duke and Dami’ll try and defend your honor while the rest of us watch you make a fool of yourself. Good times for all.”

Dick draped himself over Jason, evidently fully done with not having someone to hug. “This is my brother. He acts mean, but he’s a total fluffball. He loves me.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, Gumby.”

Eliot said, “Neal had a good idea about getting seated.”

Dick said, “Okay, okay, but can I hug Clint first? He…he looks so huggable. And like he needs hugging. And I am a very good hugger, I have _references_.”

Neal was opening his mouth, probably to gently get Dick to back off—they all knew touch was something of a hit and miss proposition with Clint—when Clint said, “You have to promise not to hold so tight I feel like I can’t get out and your hands cannot go below my waist.”

There was a flash of something that came over Jason’s face at that, but it was gone too quick for Clint to read. Dick said, “Those are very reasonable terms.”

Clint squeezed Stiles’ shoulder in thanks, and stepped out past him. He initiated the hug, feeling a little more in control that way, and Dick wrapped himself around Clint like a very needy lemur. He kept his grip loose, though, and his hands spread over Clint’s shoulder blades, and it was…heady. Warm and comfortable and strangely safe, despite not knowing Dick. Clint muttered, “You really are good at everything, huh?”

“Nope, nuh-uh. Can’t shoot things worth a damn.”

Well then, Clint might bring something to the table after all.

* * *

They ended up staying through dinner, which Bruce bought for them despite Clint, Neal, and Nyota all protesting. Steph had been the one to say, “As a very stubborn human, believe me when I say you are wasting your time.”

Tim choked on his soda at that, causing Dick to thump his back _way_ too hard, given that his sense of basically everything was impaired at the moment, Tim had crashed face first into his—thankfully finished—dinner plate, and Damian had gotten his phone out to take pictures. It was all strangely familiar to the way Clint and the others functioned.

Dick had blinked at Damian and said, “I’m going to regret all the things in the morning,” extremely cheerfully. Jason looked pleased at the very thought.

Clint had let the others do most of the talking. It wasn’t that he didn’t have things to say, he just liked listening more most of the time. At one point he caught Dick staring at him, and when Clint met his gaze, Dick just smiled happily.

He honestly could have stayed for hours with the buzz of both groups around him, but his first event was in the afternoon of the coming day, and he needed to get some sleep so he could loosen up and prepare in the morning. He stood and nodded to Bruce, who was still flirting with Peggy, “Thank you for dinner. I need to get back, but I really appreciate it.”

Looking at Dick he said, “Congratulations.”

Dick made finger guns at him and said, “Shoot straight, tiger.”

Steph said, “Marry him, please, it’s going to keep me entertained for all my days.”

Cass was watching him in a way that reminded him a bit of Nat. Because of that it wasn’t unnerving, although possibly it should have been. Clint said, “I’m holding out for someone with a few more golds,” which made Babs snort.

He waved and started toward the door. After less than a minute Eliot had caught up with him, Faith on his other side. Clint said, “Pretty sure I can make it to the dorms safely.”

“Mm,” Eliot said. “Well, just in case, I brought Faith.”

Clint grinned. Eliot asked, “Enjoy yourself?”

Clint shrugged. “Drunk puppy love or not, it’s nice to feel like someone like that…y’know.”

“Uh. Have you ever been drunk?” Faith asked.

“Not super, no,” Clint said. “Tipsy.”

“Well, trust me when I say, it doesn’t make you feel things you don’t feel. Just say shit you would normally keep to yourself.”

“That is Dick fucking Grayson, and he is so far out of my league we aren’t even running the same race.” It didn’t bother Clint, exactly. So, all right, it would have been nice for that not to have been the truth, but it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t find someone perfectly normal to settle down with, sooner or later. Probably.

Eliot and Faith shared a glance. Eliot was the one to say, “You’re Clint fucking Coulson. And you’re so dumb about what race you’re running, you haven’t even figured out who’s in it.”

Clint chewed that over until they were at his door. “I’m gonna go to bed now.”

“Sweet dreams,” Faith said, in the same tone of voice she would have said, “you’re functionally braindead.” 

Eliot wrapped him in a hug and said, “You’re gonna kill it tomorrow. And no matter what happens, all of us are gonna be there, talking about how we knew you when. Clint fucking Coulson.”

Clint burrowed into Eliot’s chest and mumbled, “Clint fucking Coulson. Yeah.”

* * *

Clint knew all about looking gift horses in the mouth, but surviving the first two elimination rounds felt easy. When he muttered this, Ziva said, “That’s how it works when you’re the best on the field.”

And okay, yeah, by some twist of fate, Clint hadn’t ended up being matched against any of his real competitors in the rounds that day, but still. All of them were at the Olympics. It was nerve-wracking, was all. Like he was going to forget to actually be on his game when it really mattered.

Natasha said, “Stop.”

He glanced at her and she held his gaze, the way they had since they were kids. When Clint blinked, she grabbed his face in both her hands and said, “Stop thinking you’re my single blind spot.”

Phil said, “Or that somehow you got here by luck when everyone else had skill.”

He knocked his knee into hers and asked all of them, “Wanna come save me from my adoring family and fans?”

Natasha laughed at that. Phil said, “Don’t even joke, young man,” which fair, because one time a crazy fan had managed to pull a lock of Clint’s hair out at nationals and Phil hadn’t been able to sleep for a month.

When they got out of the competitor’s area, Clint was mobbed by basically everyone, except those who had split off for Finn’s next events. They all cleared out fairly quickly so as to get to the pool. Clint was getting some last tips from Ziva and planning to follow when he heard Dick say, “Oh, I found you!”

Clint blinked over at him. Dick grinned. “Your sister mentioned that you’d probably do better if you couldn’t see me, so I wasn’t sitting with your family, but that made it a little harder to figure out where you were after. Congrats!” 

Dick handed him a bouquet of hydrangeas in different shades. 

Clint said, “I…didn’t win. I just survived elimination.”

“Didn’t lose, either, and a bunch of people did today. Uh, you’re not allergic to flowers, right? Tim had statistics of what a bad idea it is to give people flowers, but I really like these buggers, they are perseverant as fuck.” Dick smiled in a way that Clint was starting to realize was his nervous smile. It was strange but also a little…nice, that Clint made Dick nervous. Not in a mean way, it just kind of narrowed the playing field, was all.

“They uh, they also change colors based on the PH in the soil, that’s pretty cool,” Clint said, never more glad for how many times he’d let ‘Karu tell him random facts about plants. “No, not allergic. I mean, thanks. Thank you. They’re awesome.”

Dick said, “So, ah, I’ve gotta run. Meeting with my coach in about twenty, but Jason and I are catching up for dinner at the pita place on the main drag if you’re interested?”

“He’s interested,” Nat said.

Dick grinned at her. “Yeah? Feel free to join, both of you,” he added, adding Phil in the invite, which made Clint’s stomach flip in a way it shouldn’t, it was just _polite_ , and yet Dick’s easy acceptance and inclusion of his family was hard not to love. Clint shied away from the thought.

Phil smiled at Dick, the soft one he reserved for people he was considering liking. The one he’d given Clint and Nat that day he picked them up off a concrete floor. Clint couldn’t remember his pants size half the time, but he remembered that smile.

Clint took a deep breath, the smell of the flowers on the air. “I’ll uh. That would be nice.”

Dick’s grin somehow managed to grow. “Super nice.”

* * *

Dick texted him a few hours later, “heyo, this is Dick, Peg gave me ur #, hope u don’t mind! 7:30 pita? cu!”

They were still at the pool. Finn had competed an hour before, taking the gold in the 400m medley, which, as far as Clint was concerned, was where it showed just _how_ badass Finn was at what he did. Natasha looked at the text over his shoulder. “You want an entourage or should we leave you alone?”

He just looked at her and she laughed a little, “Yeah, okay. We’ve got you. But I think you should consider braving the second option at some point. It helps in relationships, from time to time.”

“Yeah. I.” Clint looked away.

She pressed into his side and laid her head on his shoulder. “I know. But that’s just cause nobody’s treated you the way you should be treated.”

“You so sure he’s gonna?”

“Clint,” Natasha said softly. “Do you think, for a second, that Peggy would have given him your number if she was even the _slightest_ bit concerned about that? For that matter, do you think I’d be encouraging any of this, if I had doubts?”

Clint rubbed a hand over his face. “No, of course not.”

She shifted up to kiss his cheek. “I won’t look away this time.”

Clint shook his head. “That’s not—you know I don’t see it that way.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What, you’re the only one allowed to be damaged, here?”

He laughed, given the givens. “Yeah, obviously.”

She laid her head back down. “Obviously.”

* * *

The pita place was loud, filled with a number of teams getting post-competition dinners. Nonetheless, they found a spot to sit. Natasha and Jason discovered a shared love of British mystery novels and stopped paying attention to anything but each other. Phil, thankfully, kept his head in the game, and asked Dick what he was planning on doing once the games were over.

Dick shrugged. “I graduated last year with a degree in psych, mostly because it was interesting, and they were good about working around me being on Gotham U’s team. I know Bruce’d get me set up wherever and with whatever I wanted, but.” Dick made a face. “I dunno, you’re gonna laugh. I sort of always wanted to find a way to teach kids acrobatics and circus skills, stuff that really made me happy as a kid. But not kids who can pay three hundred a month for that, kids like—”

Dick looked down at his pita suddenly. Jason, who Clint had thought was one hundred percent wrapped up in Natasha and their mutual hard-on for Agatha Christie, said, “Kids like me.”

Phil, calm as ever, asked, “Kids who grow up to really like British grammar and understated suspense, or were you referring to the fact that Wayne adopted you from a lower-class background?”

Jason blinked. “Read a lot of gossip rags?”

“Something like that,” Phil said. 

Clint rolled his eyes. “He’s a white collar agent for the FBI. I’m guessing your dad’s activities are at least somewhat monitored, given his wealth.”

“I like it,” Natasha said.

“Hm?” Clint asked, looking over at her. 

“I like Dick’s school idea. Maybe it wouldn’t have helped us, but can you imagine if there’d been a dance school that kids like us knew to be safe?” Natasha shrugged. “Maybe it would have.”

Jason was watching her. “Street kid?”

Softly she repeated Phil’s, “Something like that.”

Dick looked at Clint and asked, “What do you think?”

Clint knocked his knee into Phil’s. “I think kindness, even small bits of it, can change a person’s life.”

Dick smiled. “I like that. That’s—yes.”

Clint flushed, but found he couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop smiling in return.

* * *

Clint woke up the morning of the final rounds, and met Ziva, Phil, Natasha, Bucky, Cougar, Peggy, and Finn for breakfast. Clint told Finn, “You didn’t need to get up.”

It was one of his days without events. Finn rolled his eyes. “Nope, didn’t.”

Then he went and sat next to Cougar and asked if he could practice his Spanish. Ziva joined their conversation, while Bucky and Natasha argued with each other over the question of “beards, yay or nay?” a regular past time between themselves for reasons nobody but the two of them knew.

Phil and Peggy sat on either side of him. Phil said, “I thought I’d mention this morning, as an aside, that I love you. More than I knew I could love.”

Clint looked at him. “I—I know.”

“You could get up right now, go home, and I’d _still_ love you that much. Do you know that?”

Clint thought about it. After a long moment he said, “Yeah, I actually think I do.”

* * *

In the last round, before his last shot, Clint thought, _regardless of what happens, I’m gonna have cake with Nat and Phil tonight,_ and released the arrow.

* * *

On the podium, a step up, it was the first time he’d ever been taller than either Anders Hagen or Roy Harper in his entire life. Anders, who was introverted but had never been anything other than polite to Clint, shook his hand and congratulated him. Roy pulled him into a hug and said, “Next one’s mine, asshole.”

Clint said, “Sure thing.”

When the American anthem started playing, he found Phil and Natasha in the crowd and smiled fiercely at them for a moment before bringing his gaze back to the flag. Admittedly, victory cake was better than most cake.

* * *

Clint spent that evening being congratulated by pretty much every person who’d ever known him in any significant manner. His phone was blowing up with texts from Aaron and Emily, Jen, Spence, Pen, Jake, Derek Morgan, Jessica Pearson, Nick Fury, a number of guys he’d been on the team with at JMU, and basically anyone he’d ever spent more than an hour with in his entire life. The adrenaline of the competition and the win was beginning to wear off, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt like he could breathe without a bit of a hitch, holding something back.

Dick sidled up to him as Vin and Parker were plying him with Shirley Temples. Parker looked Dick up and down and said, “Well, well, Eliot wasn’t kidding when he called you tall, dark and handsome. I thought that was some sort of code for being a cliché.”

Clint knocked her hip with his. “Dick, this is Parker and her husband Vin. She’s this way all the time.”

“Then let’s make sure her and Damian never meet.”

Vin and Clint shared a look. Parker would make it her mission in life to meet Damian and they both knew it, even if right now, she didn’t even know who the fuck Damian was. Parker, for her part, just smiled with all her teeth and said, “Nice to meet you, TDH. Gonna take Vin somewhere where the only sexual tension is ours now, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

True to her word, she dragged Vin off. He sent an apologetic look Clint’s way, but Clint just shook his head. Dick said, “I like her.”

Clint thought he might be in a little over his head. Or, well, no, he knew he was. He meant to say something like, “She’s the best,” or maybe, “she’s a terror, but she’s our terror.” Instead he said, “I have more issues than the back catalog of Sports Illustrated.”

“Well, sure.”

Clint opened his mouth, but Dick put a hand up. “Clint, Babs and Tim are menaces with skills that nobody should have, and all of us, every single one of Bruce Wayne’s kids, are the target of fortune hunters. I told them I’d approached you and they still went with SOP, which is to send me everything they could find on you. This time, unlike normal, it came with the note, ‘this is a lot, poor kid,’ from Babs and ‘dude’s got balls of platinum,’ from Tim.” 

Dick raked the hand he’d been holding out through his hair. “And maybe I don’t know everything, because there are probably places the two of them are ethical enough not to hack just for a background check, but I read about the rescue of you and your friends, about the trial of your first year archery coach, I—I _know_.” 

His gaze was intent. “The reason I don’t give two fucks is because if you think Bruce Wayne is in the habit of making sure he finds healthy, balanced kids to adopt, you’ve another think coming to you. I saw my parents murdered when I was eight. I still compete like a fucking crazy person because as irrational as I know it is, I feel like if I don’t win then I don’t deserve his love. I—I got luckier than you in some ways, sure. But Jay and Cass and even Damian weren’t as lucky as I was. And I’ve never thought for a second about not loving them because of it. So just give me a chance, here. And maybe some credit.”

Clint tried to hash out how he felt about the violation of his privacy. It occurred to him he would have been horrified in the case of most people knowing. Now, though, it just felt like a relief, which was odd. He said, “You’re very intimidating.”

“Because of the competitiveness?”

Clint blinked. “And maybe a little bit of an idiot.”

“What?”

“Oh. I—that was supposed to stay in my head,” Clint told him. “I’ve had a few drinks.”

“Uh, okay, but since it didn’t stay in your head—”

“You’re considered one of the best athletes in the world. You’re in like six different commercials. Teenage girls and boys and everything in between with some level of sexual interest everywhere masturbate while looking at your poster. And you’re weirdly nice and want to make the world a better place and you are a _good person_. It’s a lot, Dick Grayson Wayne. I don’t know how nobody has ever told you this before, because it’s a fucking lot.”

Dick rocked back on his heels. “Okay, well, now I’m gonna be way more freaked out by teenagers, so thanks for that. But nobody has ever told you you have _arms_ , arms that need to be licked in their entirety, and an infectious laugh, and are a good listener and so many fucking things that anyone would be lucky to find in another person, so clearly everyone has made a mess of this entire situation and the only thing for us to do is make out and make that all better.”

“I—I’m not sure that’s the logical resolution to all of this.”

“Clint,” Dick said softly. “Do you want to make out with me?”

Clint’s heartbeat sped up in a way that was a little desire and a lot of terror. He forced himself to take a breath. He was safe. His family was everywhere, they were just being polite and not interfering with the hot guy flirting with him. Because they wanted him to have good things. Still, seeing the red of Natasha’s hair out of the corner of his eye, Neal’s real smile caddy corner from him, Peggy chatting with Sara, that didn’t hurt. Once the spike calmed he said, “Last time I did anything sexual with someone, it was—” he shook his head. “I’m scared. And I don’t know if I ever won’t be scared.”

Dick nodded. “But under that fear, there’s maybe interest?”

Clint looked down at the floor to hide the fact that his cheeks felt fevered. “Um. Probably interest. Like, ninety-seven percent chance of sunny skies and desire to put my tongue in your mouth, maybe, you know?”

Dick laughed. “Did I mention, that along with competitive, I’m driven as all hell when there’s something I want?”

Clint looked up. “It was kinda in the…uh. Between the lines.”

Dick said, “Ninety-seven percent, huh?”

Clint shrugged. “Approximately.”

“Well then, I’ve got it made. Know why?”

“Um. Why?”

Dick smiled. “Because you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

He sashayed off, clearly practiced at getting the last word, and using his annoyingly perfect ass to make dramatic exits. Clint swallowed the last of the beer he was drinking and said to nobody in particular, “Maybe ninety-eight percent.”

* * *

Dick held his title as reigning Olympic champion in the all-around, and medaled on floor, the rings, and horizontal bar. After Dick’s last event, Clint got a text from an unknown number, and when he checked, it said, “Hey, this is eldest heathen, celebrating at the pizza place, meet us or break Dick’s heart and feel my wrath.”

Clint knew all about red headed girls who could break him with the power of their mind, thanks. Also, he might have put on his flirtiest v-neck shirt to watch the event in case he got invited to the after-party. He figured he had at least a ninety-seven percent chance. 

The minute he walked into the pizza place, Bucky and Cougar with him, because he wasn’t ready to fly solo, Dick’s gaze found him and blatantly checked out his arms, which was both gratifying and pants-wettingly terrifying. Bucky must have noticed the change in Clint’s breathing, because he said, “I will punch that dude in the nuts if he tries anything.”

Clint said, “If he doesn’t try something, nothing’s gonna get tried.”

Softly, Cougar asked, “Do you want it to get tried?”

“Fuck, I dunno. How am I supposed to know that?” Clint was all too aware that they were standing awkwardly in the foyer of the restaurant, Bucky having waved the hostess off. 

Bucky and Cougar shared a look. Bucky said, “Uh, for me it’s when the desire overcomes the need to vomit.”

Cougar shrugged. “One of my longtime friends helped reacquaint me with what consent looks like.” He tilted his head. “Why are we here, Clint?”

And yeah, that was a reasonable question. “I think it might be because he knows a lot of my shit and it didn’t make him blink.”

“That’s…pretty hot,” Bucky said.

“Objectively, he is very hot. Like. His ass.”

“Yes,” both of them said.

“So, probably don’t punch him in the balls.” Clint bit his lip. “Probably.”

Bucky said, “I’ll read the room.”

Cougar snorted and started moving toward the table, pulling Clint in his wake.

* * *

Afterward, when Clint had promised Bucky and Cougar they could leave him to his own devices, and Dick had managed to shoo off his army of family and friends, the two of them sat in the rafters of the gymnasium, quiet and locked in the middle of the night, something that had posed no problem for Clint. Dick hadn’t even hesitated to swing and crawl up after him, and when they’d gotten to their destination, he’d laughed in delight.

Clint knocked an ankle against Dick’s and said, “Nat and I like access vents and roofs best, but rafters and catwalks have their moments.”

Dick held out his hand, loose and open, but the intent was clear. Clint slid his fingers into Dick’s. Dick asked, “You have plans, after the games?”

Clint shook his head. “Not immediately, or, not anything out of the ordinary. I’ve been working in Tony’s aerodynamics division part time so that I don’t have to depend on Phil financially. I’ll either stay with that or transition to full-time if I decide I’m retiring. Not really ready to think about any of that yet.”

“Not gonna celebrate?”

“Oh.” Clint shrugged. “There’ll be a party. Pepper and El’ll plan it and it’ll be amazing, even for someone like me, who’s not super into parties usually. You?”

“Bruce has a place near the Caribbean. Gonna go there for a week, probably with some of the family, if not all. Then start talking with Babs about whether my school thing is possible.”

“In Gotham?”

“Can you think of anywhere that needs something like that more?” Dick laughed.

Clint would give him that.

“Besides, it’s home.”

“It’s, uh. Not so far from Syracuse.”

“Syracuse?”

“It’s where I live right now. Where I train. I work remotely for SI.”

“Oh.” Dick squeezed their hands together. “Not so far at all.”

Clint leaned against him lightly, more of a brush of his weight. “Yeah. Not at all.”


End file.
